Our Lives Passed
by Wren Gebel
Summary: Draco and Hermione's is a love story gone terribly wrong when the Ministry becomes convinced that Hermione has been put under a love potion. They take her memory and Draco suffers with a 5 year sentence in Azkaban and a lifetime of heartache. But the thing about love is that it doesn't just go away and the thing about Draco and Hermione is that they'll put up one hell of a fight.
1. Chapter 1

Our Lives Passed

 **Chapter 1**

They were taking her from him. They were taking her from him like it was a crime for him to love her. No sentence in Azkaban, no amount of torture or torment could have caused him as much grief as he felt now.

His bare feet slapped against the cold concrete as they led him through the halls of the prison. A chain around his hands and two arms around his own even though he hardly had the energy to walk, let alone fight back.

His stomach churned terribly and his vision clouded and blackened. The things that had happened over the last few days played slowly and torturously in his mind.

 _They've taken her_ , was all he could think. _They've taken her from me._

They reached his cell and the door grinded open to reveal a small, windowless room made of hard concrete blocks. A cot missing its mattress on the right and a drain the size of a bludger in the middle of the floor were the only things to the room.

Draco walked forward willingly. They un-cuffed his hands and he turned to watched them grind the door back in place.

The door slammed shut, the lock clicked into place, and the echoes died from the room. He gasped for breath. All air seemed to be gone.. With a wheeze he managed to fill his lungs, but it was like sucking through a narrow straw.

Stepping forward, he touched the door. Just touched it. It was cold under his palm and the colour contrasted so vastly with his skin that it made his eyes hurt.

His chest heaved, struggling for breath. He closed his eyes and begged to cry, but not a single tear would drop.

His forehead touched the cool metal of the door. "Please," he whispered to it. "Please." He wasn't quite sure what he was begging for. Forgiveness? A way out? _Her?_

A chill came over him. His skin prickled and tightened. He turned around without opening his eyes and slid his back down the door until he was curled with his knees to his chest and his head in his hands.

Azkaban would ruin him. It would stretch him and pull him and make him beg for death. But that he could stand. That he could live with. He would get out in five years and he would keep living, keep breathing.

What would kill him was her. She would remember everything up to the time they met in St. Mungo's. She would remember him hating her, calling her names, and making her cry, but she would never remember him loving her. And if Azkaban would ruin him, that would destroy him, because even though she wouldn't love him anymore, he would never stop loving her. And, dammit, that was the worst bit. His punishment wouldn't stop after he left Azkaban. It would continue for the rest of his life. If only they'd taken his memory too. If only he didn't have to think about her and _know._

Draco fell asleep shortly after he was left alone in his cell. He woke often and slept often because it was all he could do. And some days he couldn't even do that and he would be left with staring blankly at the wall.

Only a week later, and he could feel himself going crazy. He knew that was the type of thing that happened to people there. He could feel it because he had caught himself talking aloud without even knowing it, and the worse part was he had actually thought there was someone listening.

Somedays he would talk to her. He'd try to cry, but above all this torment he couldn't even do that. Other days he would talk to his father who had encouraged her memory loss, or his friends from school who hadn't talked to him since the incident began. And some days, he would even talk to Potter and Weasley-begging them for advice or console.

"I love her, Potter," he whispered down the drain. He was laying on his stomach, on the gritty ground, talking to Potter through the pipe because he had heard it make a noise, and what if it was Potter? What if it was him and he didn't even check?

"And she loved me," he rasped. He rarely did more than whisper. The only time he ever yelled was when he heard another prisoner yelling and became convinced it was his father. "That's the truth. I promise I didn't poison her. I promise she loved me."

About a year in, Draco Malfoy stopped eating. It wasn't because he wasn't hungry. He wasn't going on strike or trying to just do himself away. It was because the food was slightly warm and it reminded him of a human body.

He craved it: the feeling of something alive. And the luk-warmth of the food was enough to make him believe he had a person to hold him.

"Hello, love," he whispered to the shapeless pile they called food. He extended a dirty finger and touched it lightly, almost lovingly, feeling warmth that could have come from a human.

They found out he wasn't eating when he refused to give his plate back. He was so weak at that point he wasn't sure if _could_ have given the plate back.

The most surprising thing happened when they sent in someone to inject him with the nutrients he needed.

A tall man in wire framed glasses and dusty grey hair started to appear once a month with a syringe and a tube.

These unpleasant monthly visits became Draco's favourite thing despite the fact that the man never spoke and he would stab Draco with the needle so harshly his arm would bruise and swell afterwards.

At first, Draco had been so shocked to see another human being that he hadn't been able to speak at all. Later, he became convinced that this man was Dumbledore. The fact that he was much younger and looked nothing like the late headmaster meant nothing to Draco.

He was Dumbledore, and despite Draco having proclaimed that he hated the man, he became the most comforting thing Draco had had in four years.

One day, on one of Dumbledore's monthly visits, Draco finally cried. Nearly five years of not being able to let go, and finally, it all came out and he couldn't stop. Even after Dumbledore packed up his things and left, and days passed, Draco cried more than ten years worth of tears.

They dumped him on the street when they let him out. He was still dirty and broken and they just threw him out.

The Ministry gave him back the keys to his house and to the nearly empty vault at Gringotts. His clothes that they took him in were tucked under his arm, socks and shoes on his feet for the first time in five years, and a note in his hand from the Ministry which described how they wanted him to live.

 _Mr. Malfoy,_

 _Please read the following note carefully:_

 _After you return to your home you will not be allowed to leave the premises for 24 hours. This is to ensure your adjustment._

 _You are restricted from using magic for the rest of the year. On January 5th you may come to the Ministry to pick up your wand at any time. A screening will be done._

 _You are hereby forbidden from speaking to_ Hermione J. Granger. _You may not speak to_ Hermione J. Granger _about her memory alteration. You may not speak to_ Hermione J. Granger _about your previous relationship. All contact with_ Hermione J. Granger _is forbidden._

Draco went home right away. His house was an empty shell. He walked through the rooms like a stranger. Everything was exactly like he left it, only blanketed with a layer of dust.

There was the cup of coffee on the table he had drank the morning he heard. There was the stain on the rug from when he dropped it out of the terror that had rushed through him. There were his shoes and his jackets. There were his books and his quills. There was everything. As if nothing had happened. As if the house hadn't been empty for five years.

He picked up the mug on the table and peered down at the sticky residue the old coffee had left. His hand shook and without really thinking, his arm reared back and the cup flew against the wall, shattering.

It wasn't enough. He kicked the chairs and tried to flip the table, but he wasn't strong enough to lift it up. He tore down the calendar on the wall that was still on that date five years ago and ripped it to shreds.

There was a picture of her. One she had taken. She was smiling and trying to make him laugh because he didn't want his 'damn photo taken'. He picked it up forcefully, too forcefully and crinkled the bottom. He stared at it for a moment, the snarl on his face slowly melting into a twisted frown. He stared at it until his eyes watered so much that he couldn't tell who it was.

He set the photo down and blinked back tears. He couldn't look at it.

There was a man in his bathroom mirror that Draco couldn't recognize. His face was dirty and patched with stubble because he couldn't grow a beard. His hair was long and greasy and uncombed. The worse part was that his eyes were bloodshot and dead; two hollow holes in his head.

He tore off his clothes, which really wasn't hard considering their state, and clambered into the shower. He felt warm for the first time. Using all the soap he had, he washed five years of Azkaban off and then washed himself again.

He cleaned himself up, but he still felt dirty. There was grime just under his skin and dirt under his nails that he couldn't get.

He punched the mirror and it shattered, cutting his knuckles, but the blood didn't scare him. He picked up a shard and brought it to his throat, staring at himself in the broken glass.

"I'll do it," he said to no one. "I'll do it." But he didn't do it. He set down the glass and cried.

After his 24 hours of house arrest was off Draco admitted himself to St. Mungo's.

They cut his hair for him there and helped him shave. A mediwitch who looked too much like a doll bandaged his fingers and gave him a potion that would help him sleep that night. He felt comfortable there because this wasn't the first time he had tried to admit himself.

Six years ago the nightmares had reached a new level and Draco was in a state similar to the one he was in now.

"I want to die," he had told them. "That's the only way I can get them to stop."

So they let him stay for about a week. That was when he saw her for the first time since the war and realized that it wasn't just he who had been haunted by the ghosts of war.

Draco laid in bed for three days. He refused to walk, or eat, or talk. On the fourth day he finally relented and ate toast. On the fifth day he told the mediwitch he was afraid. And on the sixth day he got out of bed and stumbled around like an infant learning to walk for the first time.

They mercied him with a counselor. A plump little lady came into his room and pulled a chair up to his bed.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy. My name is Laurinda Lawkins. They have assigned me to you." She smiled pleasantly at him through bright red lips and extended her hand for him to shake.

It jarred him for a moment; that someone was willing to be this kind to him. He shook her hand hesitantly.

"I'm here to talk to you about whatever you'd like." She leaned back in her chair and pulled out a notebook and a Quick Quotes Quill which she charmed to float in her peripheral vision.

Draco stared at her, unsure what to say. There were a lot of things he wanted off his chest, but what did _she_ want him to say.

"The mediwitches have told me you've had a lot of trouble getting comfortable with talking and eating. Is that true?"

He nodded.

"Why do you think that is?"

He sighed and glanced out the window at the chilly world outside. "It makes me sick," he said. "It makes me sick to eat."

"Why does it make you sick?" Her quill was scribbling away.

He shrugged and stared down at his feet. "Everything makes me sick. Everything hurts. It's all a punishment."

"Why do you feel you're being punished?" she asked.

"I _know_ I'm being punished," he growled.

"For what?"

"Loving her!" he yelled suddenly. "Didn't you read newspapers five years ago? It was all over. Everyone knows about it."

"Let's move on to something else," Laurinda responded quickly. Her quill scribbled faster than ever. "The mediwitches also told me that this isn't the first time you've admitted yourself to St. Mungo's. Why did you admit yourself before?"

"I was tired of it. I couldn't stand it. Everything I had done in the war, every person I had hurt. It was all coming back and haunting me. I couldn't take it. I wanted someone to make it stop."

"Do you want to talk about what happened in the war?"

"No."

"What about this time? Why did you admit yourself again?"

"I-" he cut himself off. "I-" he really couldn't think. He could be at home right then, locking himself away, hiding in the corner and slowly withering away. But he didn't want that. He was tired of being locked away in solitude. He didn't know what else to do.

He head fell into his hands and tears pooled out. It was shameful to cry in front of this woman, but he couldn't help it. When the tears wanted to come there was nothing he could do to stop them.

The woman finally left a while later. Draco laid in bed again, tears dried on his face. He thought about what he had told her. Despite the anger he had felt then, he felt light now. He felt like something and finally lifted from him.

For the first time since arriving, he got up and took a shower without being forced to. And when he was finished, he took the seat from beside his bed and dragged it to the window which he opened and sat by, feeling awakened by the crisp air on his damp skin.

After a month the Healers told him he couldn't stay anymore so he went home.

He'd forgotten his house was a mess. When he clicked open the front door he was greeted by the broken mug, scattered chairs, and shredded calendar. Without his wand he'd have to clean it the muggle way.

She had taught him how to do a lot of things like a muggle, and cleaning was no different. He took out the box of trash bags and used nearly every single one of them.

Room to room he went and cleared out not just the trash, but also the things that didn't matter to him anymore. The expensive spyglass. Gone. Sneakoscope. Gone. Papers and bills and letters. Gone.

In his study he found the first thing he just couldn't bring himself to throw away. It was her book. Her favourite book, sitting in plain view, yet almost hidden on the chair.

He picked it up carefully as if it might crumple in his hands, and flipped open the cover.

 _Hermione Granger_

His knees wobbled and his fingers shook. He sat down in the chair behind his desk and stared at her name in her own handwriting on the inside cover.

 _Does she miss it?_ He wondered. _Does she realize it's gone? Has she just replaced it with another?_

He flipped open to the first page and began to read, forgetting about the bags of trash around the house. She had read this aloud to him before. He could remember her sitting in the very chair he found the book and reading it to him while he worked on something unimportant behind his desk. Why didn't he listen more carefully? He can remember her reading it, but he can't remember the sound of her voice. If he'd only stopped what he was doing and payed attention maybe he could remember how she sounded.

The first time he made an appearance in the wizarding world was toward the end of December, two months after he left St. Mungo's. A letter had come from the hospital itself, an invitation really, for a Holiday event.

He knew they hadn't meant to send him one, not really, because they just went out to everyone in the registry, but he wanted to pretend that they invited him on purpose.

It wasn't that he _wanted_ to go. It was more that he felt he _had_ to. He _had_ to get out of his house again.

He showered and dressed in a suit, combed his hair, brushed his teeth, downed a whole flask of calming potion, and still felt like shit.

To an outsider, the party seemed lively and cheerful. It was the one day almost all the patients and staff had something to smile about. To Draco it was dull and meaningless.

He stood in the corner, watched the people and drank the punch, trying hard to pretend that someone had spiked it.

Then he saw her and his heart dropped.

He wasn't sure why she was there, but she was and she was so beautiful and so sad to look at. Weasley and Potter were there too, guarding her almost. But Draco hardly noticed them at all. The whole room darkened and she was the only light left in the whole world.

She turned and saw him staring and they both froze. For a moment, just one split second, he thought she remembered, but then she looked away, almost disgusted, and his chest tightened so hard he couldn't swallow.

The next thing he knew, Potter was in front of him and they were out of the party, in the empty hall. He had his hands around Draco's collar, pushing him against the wall. Despite that Draco was an inch or two taller than him, he was weaker.

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" he snarled.

He looked over Potter's shoulder at the party in the next room. He couldn't see her anymore, but he knew she was just out of sight, out of grasp, and it pained him.

"You do realize you're not supposed to be near her?"

"I didn't even know she'd be here," he responded. And then he got mad. "So shove off." He pushed Harry off, but he blocked him from entering the party again.

"Listen Malfoy," Potter said. His voice was firm, but Draco listened because there was a hint of concern. "If any Ministry official catches you around her you'll be thrown straight back into Azkaban, and you know that."

Draco's breathing quickened. In his mind he cussed at himself because, god damnit he could not cry in front of Potter.

"You don't know what it's like," he said thickly. "I love her, and they took her- We were happy. We- And now-." He sighed, fighting back tears. "And now I can't even see her."

"I don't know what went on between you two," Harry said quietly. "But I do know that she doesn't remember a thing and that's exactly how the Ministry wants it. I also know that if they get a hint that you were in the same room as her you can kiss everything goodbye again."

Draco looked at him. He didn't seem angry, more upset, which was a confusing concept. He couldn't tell if Potter was on his side or if he wanted Draco back in Azkaban, away from her, like the most of them did.

He swallowed hard. Finally, nodding, he turned and left without looking back. But he could feel her, the whole way home he could feel her tugging on him all the way from St. Mungo's.

January 5th came sooner than Draco thought it would. It had almost become comforting to him not being able to rely on his wand. Holding it now felt complicated.

He pocketed it when he finally got it back and walked home instead of apparating.

When he arrived there was someone standing in his yard, staring at his house like they were waiting for something. Bundled in a fat coat, hat, and gloves, he couldn't tell anything about the person at all other than that they were standing in _his damn yard_.

"Excuse me," he said, marching forward. "Can I help you-"

They turned around and he stopped dead. It was her. Standing in his yard; her. He knew her, loved her, but when she turned around and met his eyes it was like he was looking at a stranger.

"Granger…" he whispered. Memories of her flashed through his mind. Her face was red from the cold and she shivered in the wind. It took all he had not to reach out and hold her, to protect her however he could. But he remembered what Potter said. And he couldn't do five more years in Azkaban.

He cleared his throat. "What are you doing in my lawn?"

"You live here?" she asked. His heart sunk. How many times had she been here with him and now she couldn't even remember where he lived.

"Yes," he said. "I do. Why are you outside my house, staring at the windows?"

"It's weird," she said. "I thought this house was abandoned. I used to come by it a lot. I'm not even sure how I knew it was here, but I just feel like I've- I don't know- lived here or something before." It was quiet. The breeze picked up again as they stared at each other for a moment. Then she laughed, breathy, like she didn't mean it and looked back at his house. "Of course that's absurd! I couldn't have been here before since you live here."

"Yeah," he looked down at his shoes that had been dusted with snow and slush. "Absurd."

She must have thought he was upset because she quickly shook herself and said, "I won't come by here again."

And then she was gone.

He wanted to tell her that she could come by whenever she liked, but he couldn't do that to himself.

He set his wand on his dresser when he got inside and forgot about it.

Her book was on his table in the kitchen. He couldn't remember putting it there, but of course there it was to remind him of something he couldn't have.

Trying to ignore it, he opened his freezer and sighed. He pulled out his last 'meal for one' and looked into the empty freezer in annoyance. Now he'd have to go out and buy more.

It was a week before he actually did buy more. He survived off of plain bread and coffee for as long as he could, but he finally couldn't take it any more.

The muggle store was a few blocks away, but outside was a flurry of snow fall.

His stomach growled, he growled, and then he grabbed his coat.

The store wasn't busy because it was late and the winter sun had already set. He headed straight for the frozen food, filling his basket so that he wouldn't have to make another trip any time soon.

"That's sad," said a voice close to him.

He looked around and started, dropping the meal for one in his hand.

It was a Weasley, the youngest one. The girl. She had her own basket and her stomach was severely swollen.

Draco's lip curled. He moved the basket behind him a bit, hoping maybe that she wouldn't notice all the frozen meals.

"Weasley," he said quietly as a way of greeting her without saying too much.

"It's Potter now," she said. "Harry and I, we married while you were...gone."

He looked down. "Potter-Weasley children," he whispered. "What a curse!" he tried to laugh, but what came out was more like a dry sob.

Ginny smiled sadly at him. "Listen, Malfoy." She took a careful step toward him. "I'm sorry." He looked up at her in surprise and found sincerity in her eyes. "If it makes you feel any better, I believed you. And I think Harry did too. And Ron, well, Ron was upset, yeah, but he at least believed her."

He nodded lightly, staring at nothing just over her shoulder so that he wouldn't have to look her in the eyes.

"And, you should know," she continued. "When I see her, she asks about you." Draco looked up in shock. "Don't get too excited," Ginny said. "I don't think she knows why she asks."

"What does she say?" His fingers began to shake.

"Just things like 'I wonder whatever happened to Malfoy' or 'has anyone heard anything about Malfoy lately?'." She adjusted the basket in her hands and looked around suddenly as if she was afraid someone might come around the corner and attack her. "Listen," she said quickly. "Don't let anyone know I told you that. I'm not supposed to tell you anything about her at all, alright?"

Again he nodded and she did too. And then, after a few moments of silence, she nodded again and started away.

"Wait," he said, remembering something. "I have something of her's. Something she left at my house. Could you give it back to her for me?

She looked hesitent. "Malfoy, I don't know if that's a good idea. Maybe you should just keep it?"

He shook his head. "I can't. It's her's. It hurts me too much. I want her to have it back."

She sighed. "Okay, but not now. She isn't feeling too well and I don't want to give her anything that might jar her and make it worse. I'll come by your place sometime or I'll have Harry pick it up, okay?"

"What's wrong with her?" His breathing quickened considerably.

"Nothing. She's just not well. I really am not supposed to tell you these things. Can I come by sometime and pick it up or not?"

He refused to drop it. Was something wrong with her? Was she sick or maybe was she starting to remember? "Is she in Saint Mungo's then?"

Ginny looked torn. "Malfoy, really, I can't tell you. Okay?"

He pursed his lips and fisted his hair with a shaking hand. His thoughts were whirring, but he managed to nod anyway.

With his head positively spinning, he raced through the check-outs and all the way home, not even noticing the cold water that bled through his shoes.

Inside, he threw the dinners onto the counter and scrambled for a piece of parchment and a quill. Scribbling quickly, he wrote:

 _Dear recipient,_

 _I have recently been informed that a one Hermione J. Granger has been admitted to Saint Mungo's. As a concerned_ (here he paused and thought a moment. Who could he claim to be that would get him information?) _family member I would like to request Granger's room number and cause of admittance._

He didn't sign it, but instead folded it several times, used his wand to call an owl, and sent it away as quickly as he could.

He breathed quickly and heavily. His fingers and leg shook like nimble branches in a storm. After waiting for a minute at his kitchen table for the owl to return with no luck, he stood suddenly and began angrily packing away the meals.

It wasn't until he was half naked, about to turn on a late night shower, that he heard the unmistakable tap of an owl's beak on the window.

He threw it open, ignoring the chill that swept through him with the bitter air, and very rudely snatched the letter from the owl.

 _To whom it may concern,_

 _Unfortunately, Saint Mungo's is prohibited by wizarding law to give out a patient's personal information. However, the patient in question; Ms, Hermione J. Granger, has allowed us to confirm that she is temporarily receiving medical assistance at Saint Mungo's to anyone who should ask about her whereabouts._

 _Please excuse the inconvenience, we hope you understand._

 _-Head Healer_

 _Hippocrates Smethwyck_

Draco's mouth curled into a snarl at first, but he relented. She was there. That much he knew, but he could hardly roam through Saint Mungo's without knowing which room she was in. In fact, he realized, he couldn't roam through Saint Mungo's looking for her at all. He wasn't even supposed to be asking about her. He swallowed a lump in his throat. If someone found out he had asked about her…

He shook his head. He shouldn't have risked writing to Saint Mungo's at all. And he certainly couldn't risk going to look for her. He frowned deeply and sunk his head in his hands, crumpling the letter.

It was so late after he finished his shower that the sky outside was a dusty grey and the sun was barely peaking over the horizon. He shuffled around his house, tired, but he didn't feel much like sleeping.

He picked up her book that was still sitting on the table and flicked through it. The words and letters flashed by in a blur. But then a thick black streak caught his eye and he stopped to see what had grabbed his attention.

It took a minute for him to find the page, but when he did it took him another full minute to comprehend what he was looking at.

A small passage had been underlined in black ink. She never would have written in a book, especially not her favourite one, Draco knew this, but then why had she so obviously done so here?

He was so confused that he forgot that maybe he should be reading what was underlined.

It read:

" _And what would I do if you were to die? What would I do if you were to be taken from me?" he asked._

 _Sharlott smiled sadly and extended her hand to him. When he took it, she spoke, "If I were to die I would want you to live. I would want you to smile, laugh, cry, fall in love. If I were to be taken from you I would want you to be happy that I had gone knowing you. I wouldn't want you to mope or feel sorry for yourself, and I certainly wouldn't want you to feel sorry for me. I would want you to stand tall and be proud that I had known you."_

 _ **Draco.**_

Underneath it was his name, very small and hard to read if he didn't already know what it would say.

She had found a way to speak to him before her memory was taken and she forgot him altogether. And he knew she was right, no matter how hard it was for him to hear he had to move on and stop feeling sorry that she was no longer his. There was nothing he could do to bring her back to him.

And so he cried.

And when he was finished it was early morning. He stood up, put on some of his nicer things, and set out to buy himself a piece of chocolate as if to prove that he was finished punishing himself for things he couldn't control.

 _A/N: Hello readers! Thank you so much for clicking and reading through! If any of you follow me you'll know it's been forever since I've uploaded anything and even longer since I've uploaded anything other than a one-shot. But, the time has come. I've tossed this idea around in my head for awhile, and originally it was going to be a one-shot, but I realized I couldn't fit all I wanted to fit into less than 50 pages, so yes, this is a multi-fic._

 _The chapters are going to be uploaded kind of randomly, but that's where you come in! If you liked the chapter and want me to write faster please make sure to let me know in a comment because I really do feel like writing more when I have people cheering me on!_

 _Anyway dears, thank you so much for reading! Also make sure to let me know if there is something that doesn't make sense or if you have a question. I'll try to address these either outright or later on in the story. Thanks again!_


	2. Chapter 2

Our Lives Passed

 **Chapter Two**

On Sunday there was a knock at his door. He opened it to find Harry Potter standing on the doorstep in a grey jacket that very nearly matched the sky in colour.

"Potter?" Draco asked reluctantly.

"Malfoy," Harry responded with a nod. "Ginny told me that you still had one of Hermione's books?"

Draco thought for a moment, nodded, and then disappeared back inside, shutting the door against the cold as he went.

The book in question was sitting on the end table in his room, but he walked slowly with it, reluctant, even though it was his idea, to give the book back. After finding the highlighted message she had left for him he had spent all of his free time scanning the book for a possible other message. But the rest of the pages were just like new.

He gave it to Harry. "It's her favourite book. If it wasn't I might have kept it," he said.

Harry nodded. "I'll make sure she gets it."

"Weasley told me she wasn't feeling well. What's wrong with her? I know she's at Saint Mungo's."

"Ron told you that?" Harry asked, looking up from the book in his hands.

"No, the other one."

"Ginny? Actually, her name's Potter now." Harry looked rather proud of this fact. "But that's beside the point." He shook his head. "She shouldn't have told you anything. And I can't tell you anything either. You know the trouble that could get us into."

"Potter, please?" Draco begged. "All I want to know is that she's okay."

Harry sighed in defeat and looked around much like Ginny had in the store the other day.

"All I can tell you is that she'll be fine. It was just a minor...episode."

Draco frowned. "Episode? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Malfoy, please-"

"Potter, tell me!"

"I can't!" Harry screamed back.

For a moment, there was silence. The two stood there, on Draco's porch, glaring menacingly at each other, each blowing a heavy puff of warm air angrily through their noses.

Soon, Harry's frown lessened. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I can't tell you." And he turned around a marched down the steps.

It took every bit of Draco to keep himself from screaming in frustration. He growled and slammed the door hard behind him.

In February he got a job. He didn't even bother with any possible jobs in the wizarding world-too many chances he might run into someone who knew him-opting instead for a filing position at the muggle public library.

It was quiet, organized, and he only occasionally had to deal with a muggle who couldn't find the book they were looking for.

He didn't do it because most of the fortune his parent's had left him was seized by the Ministry and the rest was slowly running out. He did it because he needed to get out of his house. He needed something to distract him, and while the job was monotonous, it did just that.

A week after starting he discovered an arrangement of five cement picnic tables outside that were almost always empty due to the cold weather. But Draco thought they were a perfect place to eat his lunch, and he cast a hidden warming charm around his table so that the cold couldn't bother him.

The table faced the street that ran in front of the library. It was a busy road, full of muggle life, and he liked to watch them hurry by, amazed at the similarities and differences between this muggle road and a similar road in the wizarding world.

One day, when the weather showed hints that it was starting to turn, a man maybe a few years younger than Draco unexpectedly plopped down into the seat across from him.

"Hey," the man said casually.

Draco stared at him, halfway between raising his sandwich to his mouth and taking a bite. He cleared his throat. "Hello?"

The man said nothing, instead opening his own lunch pail and taking out some sort of wrap. Draco watched him with disgust. He took a large bite of the wrap and flung a piece of brown hair out of his eyes.

They sat in silence. Draco couldn't bring himself to look away from the way he was devouring his food.

After a moment, the man looked up to see Draco staring quizzically at him, and tried to swallow all his food at once. "You're that Draco Malfoy guy, right?" he asked thickly through a mouthful of food.

Draco wrinkled his nose. How did this bloke know his name? "Yes?"

The man sniffed and rubbed his nose. "What kinda name is that?" he asked. "You Russian or something?"

"It's French," Draco responded shortly.

He stuck out his lower jaw and nodded as if he were impressed.

Draco frowned harder. "I'm sorry," he said. "But, who are you?"

"Right! Sorry, mate! I'm Drew. I work at the library too." He stuck out his hand for Draco to shake, but it was covered with grease from his wrap and Draco tried to pretend he didn't see it.

"You work at the library?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, weird right?"

"Not really."

"I saw you when you first started, but I never got the chance to talk to you. I thought we could be friends, you know? It gets pretty dull around here, I'm sure you know."

"No, I don't know." Draco started packing his things away, though his sandwich was only half gone.

"Well, hey, if you want to stop by my place tonight we can watch football on the telly and I can make these little snacks, and I think I have some beer in the icebox," Drew said, standing up in excitement when Draco did.

Draco didn't know what football was, and he never cared much for television. "I'm rather busy tonight," he said solemnly and started walking back into the library, but of course, Drew followed close behind.

"Aww, well maybe another night then?" He puffed, struggling to keep up with Draco's long strides.

Draco said nothing. He opened the door and hurried to his desk where he immediately began sorting through the box of cards. He didn't look up until he was sure Drew hadn't followed him.

That evening, he left a bit later than usual, making sure that he wouldn't be stopped by anyone trying to make friends.

When he got home though, he wasn't alone.

It was dark out, only the very last bit of sunlight peeking over the horizon line, but he could see a figure sitting on his steps.

He gripped his wand under his coat. Breathing quickly, his heart picked up as he started up the walkway.

The figure stood up and he instantly dropped his guard because he could recognize their shape.

"Malfoy! Finally!" It was her. She stormed down the steps toward him.

He stopped, paralyzed by her. She was terrifyingly angry, that he could see from the light that was left, but she was beautiful.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, though he found that he could hardly form words.

"What the hell is this?" she fumed, shoving a book into his face.

He took out his wand, lit it, and held it up to the book. It was her book. The one she had left behind and the one Draco had asked Potter to give her.

But of course he couldn't say that. Instead he had to pretend he had never seen the book before even though he had heard her read it to him a dozen times, and he had scanned the pages, studying it like a bible.

"A book?" Was what he said.

"Don't play games with me, Malfoy." He felt a pang every time she called him that. She yanked the book back from him and flicked through it until she found the page she was looking for. Then she thrust it back into his hands. "There," she said. "What's that supposed to mean?" She pointed a gloved finger at the underlined passage he had discovered about a month before.

"What are you talking about?" he said.

"This!" she nearly shrieked, stabbing the page harder with her finger.

"I didn't put that there," he said truthfully.

"You signed it!" She was becoming almost frantic. Years ago, when she would become so upset like she was now, Draco would take her and hold her close to him until her breathing calmed and she stopped shaking. Merlin only knew how much he wished he could hold her now.

"I didn't sign it," he sighed.

"Your name is under it!"

"That's not my handwriting."

"But- it's-" she sputtered and wretched the book back. She glared down on the page for a long time and then suddenly her face sank. She looked up at him, her eyes terrified. "It's mine."

His heart dropped. He had to get away. He felt his breathing pick up and his heart hammer faster.

"It's my handwriting," she said, still looking at him in horror. "But why would- why would I- unless I- did I write this to you?"

Draco said nothing. He felt like breaking down and crying all over again.

"This doesn't make any sense!" She threw her head in her hands and stared at the ground. "My favourite book was missing forever and suddenly it shows back up and it has a passage in it _I_ addressed to _you_?"

"I can't help you," Draco stammered. He headed toward his door quickly. Already she had found out too much.

"What do you know, Malfoy?!" she called after him.

He stopped to flinch for a second, but he didn't turn around. "I'm sorry, Ganger. I can't."

"Malfoy!"

But he had already gone inside.

He shut the door behind him and clutched his chest. It was aching painfully and his throat felt raw.

After a few minutes, he peaked out the window to make sure she had left. His lawn was full of muddy snow and slush, but she was gone.

The next morning, as he was getting dressed for work, there came a tapping at his window. He pulled back the blinds to find a small brown owl with a letter in its beak.

He took the letter carefully, afraid that someone had found out that she had come to his house last night. But when he opened it it was clear that it was not a letter from the Ministry at least.

 _Draco,_

 _Listen. I get that we've had our differences and we pretty much drew blood the last time we saw each other, but I want to put that behind us. And before you think this is a letter about me trying to crawl into your pants again, think again. I want you to take me out. Just as friends. Because we were, you know? I know you have problems, but I've been having my own too, and I need a distraction._

 _And if you don't reply to this owl then I want you to know that you're the biggest ass I've ever met ._

 _-Pansy P._

Draco nearly laughed, first out of surprise and then out of something like joy. He never actually cared for Pansy-the girl had been completely obsessed with him-but she also used to be there for him. At times when Crabbe, Goyle, or Zabini just didn't get it, she always just seemed to understand. She'd drop the sickening flirting and flouncing for a few minutes to show him that she just _got it._

Plus, now she was the first person to contact him after everything had happened. It had taken her long enough, but she had reached out and he hadn't realized until now how much that would mean to him.

He finished getting dressed, ate his breakfast, and when he found free time at the library, he started the letter that he would owl her back.

They met on Sunday in a little cafe on a street corner in muggle London. The shop was small and would have been cramped if there were more people, but the sky outside was heavily overcast and it was pouring which seemed to prevent most people from creeping outside. The inside was warmly lit with soft muggle lights that reminded Draco of oil lamps, and it smelled like coffee and antiques.

"Jesus Christ," Pansy said when she saw him. "You look fucking terrible."

Despite himself, Draco laughed. "I could say the same to you. Whose funeral are you going to?"

She was clad in nearly all black, from her tight jeans to the large sunglasses shading her eyes. The only pop of colour was her lipstick which was bright red and the white stripe on the hood of her jacket which she still had up over her dark hair.

She shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. "I could give you a long list of the people whose funeral I wish I could attend."

Draco shook his head, finding her indifference amusing. After a moment, he asked her, "so what?"

She looked up at him, though Draco couldn't see her eyes through the dark shades. "What, what?"

"Why are we here, Parkinson?" Draco asked. "What do you want."

She suddenly looked offended. Her bright lips twisted into a scowl. "You think I want something?" she dared him to answer. "You think the only reason I'm sitting in a muggle cafe with you is because I'm going to ask you for something? Why? Because you've grown into a muggleborn lover and I'm still supposed to be the muggle hating piece of shit that you once were?"

"What the hell are you on about?"

"I've had problems too, Malfoy! You're not the only one! Maybe what I _wanted_ was someone to talk to. Maybe what I _wanted_ was someone who could understand how hard it is to adjust to this world that is so completely different than what our parents told us it would be."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean that you would _want_ something, I just thought- I don't really know."

It took a moment, but she seemed to be satisfied enough that she took a slow drink of her coffee.

"What's with the glasses?" Draco asked carefully.

She tapped the table with her fingernails. "I'm hungover. The light hurts my eyes."

"Hungover? Pansy, I thought you quit?"

"Like I said. You're not the only one with problems."

"What happened?" He heard real concern in his voice, something he never would have let sneak past his lips before the war.

She sighed almost impatiently. "If you can believe it, I dated a muggle guy." She paused, waited for his reaction, but he gave none. "He was _hot._ Muscular, thick hair, big-"

"Okay!" Draco held up his hand for her to stop. "I don't need a fullbody description."

"Anyway." He thought he saw her roll her eyes under her dark glasses. "I liked him. _A lot_. I thought dating a muggle would be a good way to introduce myself to a new kind of life. I thought all muggles were kind of soft and naive, but they're all just assholes. Just like every wizard I've been with." She looked solemnly into her coffee.

"So you started drinking again?"

"I told you. I really liked this guy. It completely ruined me when I found out what he had done. You were in Azkaban, Blaise and Daphne had just gotten married, I didn't have anyone to talk to and you know how much I need to talk. I was trapped."

"Blaise and Daphne got married?"

Pansy scoffed at his sudden change of subject, but answered him anyway. "Yeah. Long time coming. Though when it happened more people were excited to hear about Potter and Weasley's engagement than theirs and it kind of got pushed into the dark."

Draco nodded. He swirled his coffee in his hand so that the bubbles rearranged into new patterns.

After a moment of silence, Pansy said, "Astoria's still available though."

He looked up. "Oh?"

"I know you always fancied her more than you did me. You'd probably make her and her family pretty happy if you pursued her."

"I have too much going on now. I'm not ready to start dating yet. I don't know if I'll ever be."

Pansy shrugged. "Just as well, probably. I heard that Astoria is getting into muggle men, too. Seems like every Pure-blood I know who used to swear up and down that they hated muggles are starting to hook up with them now. Her parents are totally pissed."

"The irony, right?" Draco gave a breathy laugh.

"Yeah." Pansy grinned. "Bloody ironic."

After he and Pansy parted ways Draco realized just how good it felt to talk to someone who didn't just loathe or pity him. And hearing her problems made him forget about his own for awhile.

However, there seemed to be a problem that was only just arising. At the library the man named Drew couldn't seem to take a hint. Draco stopped eating outside, and instead ate at his desk, but Drew found him there too and pulled up a chair without asking. Draco thought that the man could talk for hours. He tried to ignore him, but his voice had a stuffy sort of sound to it that made it impossible to block out.

Then one day Draco realized that Drew wasn't just talking nonsense. It was the first day of March when he stopped trying to just ignore the man and actually listen to what he said. And what he said was one of the saddest things Draco had ever heard.

"Christine and I got married and soon as we were done with school," he had said. He went on to tell Draco that when they hooked up once in school they knew they were in love. Everyone told them they were foolish (and Draco thought it sounded foolish too) but they were married and lived together for two year.

Christine died of a terrible accident. Drew had been working on the roof of their house-though he told Draco that he hadn't really known what he was doing-when Christine came out and stood below to watch him. One of his tools slipped out of his hand-a hammer-and landed on the roof, but it was slanted and it slid with momentum off the side and hit her in the head.

They thought she was going to live at first, but she got sick and died later in the hospital.

Drew was charged with involuntary manslaughter and served 12 months in jail. When he got out, he moved up north to where he was now and tried to forget.

"But I can't forget," he said blankly. "I love her so much. It doesn't just go away."

Draco nodded and looked down at his half eaten lunch, then up at the clock. His lunch break was almost over, but he stood up.

"Come on," he said to Drew.

"Where are we going? The break is almost over."

"Take the rest of the day off." Draco picked his jacket up off the back of his seat and slung it over his shoulder. "Let's go get a drink, eh?"

Drew looked shocked at first. His little eyes widened and he blinked several times, but then he stood up with gusto.

They went to a little pub Drew pointed out. The drink menu was unfamiliar to Draco-different from wizarding drinks-so he ordered a beer like Drew did, imagining that it couldn't be that much different from butterbeer. But it was. Butterbeer was sweet, and compared to it this was almost bitter. It was all Draco could do to keep from spitting it out. But the burn felt good on the way down. It was faint, but it felt nice and he could understand why Pansy took so heavily to drinking when she was upset.

"It's nice of you come out with me," Drew said, taking a big swig of his beer and then using his sleeve to wipe the foam off his mouth. "I don't get a lot of company."

He nodded, understanding well what that felt like, though he felt uncomfortable whenever anyone else was around.

And he felt slightly uncomfortable now. As Drew lapsed into another story about his childhood, Draco began to wonder why he had invited the man out at all. He hated people who talked too much, and Drew was a muggle, something Draco still had trouble understanding sometimes.

But perhaps it was that story that Drew had told him when he thought maybe Draco wasn't listening that jarred something in Draco that made him understand this man more than he had ever understood most people. Something about his tragic tale that had reminded Draco of events in his own life that persuaded him to take pity.

And maybe thinking this was why Draco downed the rest of his beer, even though he hated the taste, and ordered another, then two whiskies (which wasn't as strong as firewhiskey was), and let Drew order them both a round of shots which Draco found out were quite fun. And by the evening he was completely pissed.

Which was probably why he forgot Drew was a muggle and he was a wizard and started spilling his guts about everything that had gone wrong in his life. He was using terms such as 'Quidditch' and 'Dark Mark' which Drew couldn't have possibly understood, but like Draco, he was too sloshed to care and nodded along as Draco talked more in a few hours than he had ever talked in his life.

He even confessed numbly about his time in Azkaban and why he was forbidden from ever speaking to a beautiful girl with wonder filled eyes and bushy hair.

He finished his story with, "and now I get why Pansy uses alcohol every time something bad happens. Because right now I don't feel a Goddamned thing. Do you know how long I've not wanted to feel a thing?"

Drew looked like he was nodding, though it could have been because he was about to pass out.

"That's some serious fucked up shit," he slurred at Draco. "Youand yourgirl foughthard." His words were all mixed together. "You can't just throwthataway!" He raised his glass as if for emphasis and spilt the drink all over himself. "Aw shit," he said, looking down at his drenched shirt.

"Here." Draco tried to pick up a napkin off the counter and hand it to him, but the connection between his brain and his fingers wasn't working right and he grabbed the cigarette tray instead.

"Anyway," Drew said after rubbing the tray on his stomach with no luck of it cleaning up his shirt. "You gotta fight the system!" He jabbed Draco in the chest.

Draco blinked hard several times, trying to comprehend what this man before him was saying. Did he know this guy? How had he gotten to this bar anyway? "You're probably right," he said, though he could hardly remember the advice he had been given.

Drew nodded in satisfaction and then slumped face first into the bar.

Draco threw back the rest of his drink and stood up. He had suddenly decided to go home if he could remember where exactly it was that he lived.

When he stumbled his way outside he stopped to glare up at the sky and wonder where the hell all the blue had gone, and then he started his journey home, which wasn't an easy one.

There was a figure on his steps again and somehow his drunken mind knew exactly who it was.

"Granger!" he exclaimed and stumbled over his own feet to get to her.

She stood up quickly and lit her wand which made him growled and squeeze his eyes shut. "Malfoy?"

"Put your stick out it hurts my eyes!"

"Malfoy, what's wrong with you?"

He squinted at her. She looked quite angry again. A scowl cut deep across her face. It made Draco giggle like an idiot. "I don't think you're supposed to be here," he whispered coyly. "Don't tell them you were here." Grinning widely, he extended his index finger and pushed it on her angry lips, whispering, "shh!"

To his surprise, she slapped his hand away. "You're completely pissed!" she spat.

"I'm allowed to do that," he insisted.

"Malfoy," she said, trying to be level. "I came here to demand you tell me about what was in my book."

"Oh, you mean your favourite book!" He tried to grab her hand, but she kept slapping him away, her face growing redder and redder.

"How did you know that was my favourite book?" Her frown deepened.

He shrugged.

"Malfoy tell me!"

He made a face at her.

She shrieked.

He passed out on his front lawn.

She stood over his drunken body for a minute, rolling her eyes, huffing, and impatiently tapping her food. "This is why I hate you, Malfoy!"

 _A/N: Okay, so not my favourite chapter, but I hope you enjoy. It was a bit of a filler chapter, but I needed and I had to force myself to write it which is probably why I don't like it very much. Also a bit shorter than I wanted it to be._

 _Anyway, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews on the last chapter! Like I said, I'm getting really busy with back to school stuff and my uploads will be kind of random, but your comments do help so thanks!_

 _See you next chapter!_


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